


Conservation of Mass

by katiemariie



Category: Farscape, Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Gen, Post-Peacekeeper Wars
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-26
Updated: 2017-02-26
Packaged: 2018-09-27 00:18:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,443
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9939389
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/katiemariie/pseuds/katiemariie
Summary: To pay for diapers, Aeryn takes on a new mercenary gig: Garak.Or: "Put that Cardassian back where he came from, or so help me."





	

In all things parenting, Aeryn may be a total amateur when compared to Crichton, but there is one thing she realized far earlier than he did.

Babies are very expensive.

John spent the first monen of D’Argo’s life enveloped in some kind of paternal euphoria (although it may have been the coma), murmuring about how everything was going to be all right now and of course they had all the money they could ever need.

But even then Aeryn knew their coffers would quickly run dry.

Aeryn’s teachers were never shy about sharing how much of an investment her infancy and childhood were for the Peacekeepers. Her commanders, she knew, were trained to see their troops in terms of credits when launching rescue missions, running a cost-benefit analysis on the lives of their own people.

Taking the exact figure her teachers drilled into her head, adjusting for inflation, and factoring in that the per unit cost will be higher given that they will not be buying in bulk (they have one, not one thousand babies) or using slave labor...

And Aeryn realized rather quickly that one of them would need to get a job.

Or rob a bank.

Again.

And that’s how Aeryn finds herself separated from husband and child, heading right into Peacekeeper space.

This time, however, it’s on her own terms.

The rendezvous point is on, if you will believe it, a planet. As loathe as Peacekeepers are to operate on natural gravity, high command conceded that planetary storage was most suitable for this project. After all, it’s much harder for someone to steal away with an entire planet.

Dropping her Prowler down nearly on top of the rendezvous coordinates (Aeryn does not like walking with prisoners), she takes a moment to adjust to the slight variation in gravity before stepping out.

The face greeting her inspires a now familiar twinge of ambivalence, an odd emotion Aeryn doesn’t quite have a hang on currently. Is she disgusted to see a shameless opportunist? Glad to see a former comrade with whom she shared a most triumphant battle? Or simply resigned upon seeing a man who now provides her marching orders and her family’s sole source of income?

Feeling a sudden surge of queasiness at the thought, Aeryn reminds herself that despite appearances he is not her commanding officer. She is not a soldier or a Peacekeeper. She is, as John puts it, a freelancer, an independent contractor.

And as such she owes this man no more respect than he has earned.

“Braca.” She acknowledges his presence but not his rank.

He gives her a withering glare. “Aeryn.”

Since he just had to escalate things—her first name, really?—Aeryn responds in kind. “I’m surprised to see you here. I didn’t think your leash extended this far.”

He looks up from his stylus with a sigh. “Yes, well, one is let off-leash as duty requires. As you well know.” A small smirk disappears behind his stylus. “I know you’re accustomed to working with a member of my staff, but Scorpius requested I manage this hand-off personally.”

Intriguing. “Dangerous then?”

“Possibly.” He pauses for a beat. “You will receive an added bonus upon completion if that’s what you’re asking.”

“How much?” Aeryn inquires.

Braca looks over his stylus. “That’s between your leash and mine. I only handle deliverables.”

However naive Crichton may be in the realm of infant finance, Aeryn can trust him to negotiate with Scorpius. Indeed, John is the only person she knows who’s negotiated with Scorpius and lived to tell the tale. Plus handling this side of the business makes John feel like he’s contributing which results in far fewer attempts at elaborate home-cooked dinners.

Aeryn shrugs. “Fair enough.” She points her chin at the bound and gagged figure lying at Braca’s feet. “Is there anything you should be warning me about?”

Braca answers simply, “It lies.”

-

Crammed into the back of a sleek but far too cozy vehicle, his limbs immobilized into harmlessness, Garak doesn’t expect a comfortable ride.

But then the woman—a human by Garak’s estimation, but he doesn’t have his field guide handy—stops the vessel and removes his gag.

“There.” She jams the gag into her pocket and returns to her console.

Garak makes a show of swallowing, wetting a mouth parched by this cruel bondage. “Thank you.” He swallows loudly. “Aeryn.”

“You’re welcome.” She pilots the vehicle onward. “But I didn’t do that for you.”

“Oh. Well, thank you all the same.” He pauses. “I know you have no reason to believe me, but these past few days have been devoid of even the smallest kindnesses. The men you work for… I know you must have your reasons, but they are not good men. The things they did… You couldn’t possibly know or you wouldn’t—”

“If you keep babbling,” she says in a tone strangely reminiscent of Mila, “I will put the gag back on.” 

Thankfully, Mila never said anything like that. Who knows where Garak would be if he had two draconian disciplinarians in his childhood rather than just the one. He’d probably be a gul.

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs. “I’ll be quiet.”

“You don’t have to be quiet. Just stop lying.”

They haven’t known each other long enough for her to realize that one necessarily entails the other.

Garak inhales shakily. “I’m not lying. Those men—that Scorpius—”

“Is not a good man, I know,” she says. “But he knows a liar. And if he says you lie, then—”

“And you would believe him? Over me?” Garak hisses. A risk, but hopefully one well taken. “The man he kidnapped? And held in some dungeon?” 

It was actually a rather nice facility. Too cold for Garak’s liking, but tastefully decorated.

“Whether I believe you or him doesn’t matter. You could both be lying for all I care. I’m escorting you to the checkpoint regardless,” Aeryn says.

“Then why remove my gag?” he asks.

Her shoulder muscles tighten. “There’s something you need to know.”

“And you couldn’t tell me with the gag on?”

“I’ve done this enough times to know you’re more likely to listen once the gag is removed.”

Creating the illusion of dialogue to encourage listening. A remarkable observation from someone so clearly lacking a formal education in espionage. A mercenary, by her own admission. How common.

He wonders how many times it took for her to learn the gag trick.

“So, you do this often?” Garak asks. “Transport prisoners for Scorpius?”

“You’re not a prisoner,” Aeryn says.

Garak raises his hands as much as his bonds will allow. “The restraints beg to differ.”

Aeryn looks over her shoulder. “Would you turn your back on a man you just met?”

“After what I’ve just been through? No, I wouldn’t. Even if he were in chains. But before?” Garak gazes out at the unfamiliar stars. “I could trust people. And I liked to think that they could trust me. But now I’m not sure I—”

“Do you know how lucky you are?” Aeryn snaps. “You fell through a pocket of unreality, and not only did you live, but you were rescued. No one hunted you or tried to hurt you. They gave you food and water and a place to sleep.”

“They interrogated me,” Garak interrupts. “For days.”

“You were questioned.”

“Forcefully.”

“Did Scorpius put you in a chair?”

“A chair? No. He made me sit on the floor.”

Aeryn scoffs. “Then you weren’t interrogated. You were questioned, detained, and now you’re being escorted home.”

“And how exactly do you plan on doing that?” Garak knows he’s getting far too snippy, but being detained and questioned without the benefit of an Obsidian Order implant frays the nerves. He’s rather out of practice. “You people keep talking about ‘alternative realities’ and how I’m supposedly from one or in one. How are you going to get me back? Do you have some kind of machine that punches holes in the very fabric of reality?”

-

Aeryn bites her tongue, swallowing the words, “Not anymore.” That would only serve to frighten the man.

She wishes she could tell him the story behind all this. She wishes he could know why he’s here, why she’s here. She wants to tell him that she’s not just working for Scorpius, under Braca for the money. She could’ve taken any number of mercenary jobs but she chose this one out of a gnawing sense of social responsibility.

She played no small part in convincing Pilot to create the wormhole weapon. She watched as her husband generated the largest wormhole the galaxy has ever seen. It got them peace.

But there were consequences far greater than John falling into a coma.

Pilot thinks the universe will repair itself eventually; he says Moya can feel time and space beginning to stitch themselves back together.

In the meantime, the refugees continue to appear. And Aeryn has made it her job to return them home—and her personal mission to ensure they never come back here.

Minimizing fear is key to achieving both.

Best not to mention her husband constructing a doomsday device capable of cleaving space from time, perforating the surface of their reality, allowing others to leak in.

Best to go with a bare bones version of the truth.

“No, I don’t have the power or the ability to move through realities,” Aeryn says. “But I know someone who does. He’ll meet us at the checkpoint.” 

She says this as if ‘the checkpoint’ was a stable point in time and space, and not an ever-shifting set of coordinates that can only be divined by highly-advanced beings with deep ties to other realms. Or Stark, who provides Einstein’s coordinates for a modest fee and a vow that Aeryn won’t share them with anyone else.

“For a human, you keep very strange company,” the man says.

Aeryn brings her Prowler to a halt, sending her passenger forward in his seat, his head bopping off the soft back of her headrest.

“Human?” Aeryn repeats. “How do you know that word?”

The man exhales, aiming a puff of air at his forehead, blowing aside a stray lock of hair. “I consider myself a citizen of the galaxy,” he says, sarcasm dripping so heavily from his tone that Aeryn fears it might damage the upholstery. “I’m familiar with many species.”

“Including humans?”

“My dear, some of my best friends happen to be human.”

-

Aeryn seems taken aback by that admission. Is humanity some kind of secret in this part of the galaxy? If so, they’re not doing a very good job protecting it.

She turns to face Garak and asks slowly, deliberately, “Is there a planet called Earth where you come from?”

“Why?” He leans forward in his seat. “Is there not one here?” 

A flippant remark but perhaps one that will inspire her to reveal something about this corner of space. Thus far, his captors have been horribly tight-lipped, careful not to reveal the distances they traveled, the stars and planets they’ve passed, even the date. Garak thought this a charade to disorient him—a kind of sensory deprivation—but now he suspects that his captors are truly attempting to keep the details of this sector a secret.

As much as he’s tried to get Aeryn to believe otherwise, he isn’t some hapless victim, kidnapped by strange aliens who kept him in the dark to torment him or complicate escape attempts.

No, these people want him gone. In their eyes, he is an interloper to be driven from their territory with as little knowledge of their ways as possible.

At Aeryn’s silence, Garak clicks his tongue. “Of course, you wouldn’t be able to tell me either way.”

“It’s best that you don’t know,” Aeryn says.

“For my sake or yours?” 

“For everyone’s. The less you know—”

“The less likely I’ll be to return with a thousand cloaked starships carrying enough firepower to destroy Scorpius’ entire fleet,” Garak finishes.

“More or less.” 

Garak settles back into his seat. “You needn’t worry yourself. I have no such vessels at my command. I’m nothing more than a simple tailor.”

“A tailor?” Aeryn repeats doubtfully.

“Yes. I mend, alter, and occasionally design clothing. Given this locality’s obsession with black leather, I’ll pardon your unfamiliarity with my occupation.”

Aeryn blinks. “Even if that’s true, it doesn’t take a general to start a war.”

“Tell me, are very many wars started by tailors around here?”

“Not to my knowledge.” She turns back to her controls. “But I’ve seen too many scared people start wars they can never finish to discount the possibility.” She returns the vessel to motion. “And that’s why I wanted to talk.”

“Go ahead. I’m quite literally your captive audience.”

“If I know Scorpius—and unfortunately, I do—he tried very hard to scare you. He may not have tortured you but he said things, made references to powers he no longer possesses.” She pauses. “He doesn’t have a fleet, by the way. Neither he nor Braca will ever command such numbers again. Not after what they did.”

Garak feels himself lean forward. “What was that exactly?”

“They helped bring peace to this part of the galaxy.”

“Ah,” Garak says. “An unforgivable sin.”

“For their outfit, yes.” She continues, “For all his posturing, Scorpius chose peace, and he’ll live with the consequences for the rest of his life. That’s something I hope you’ll remember. That man chose peace. I chose peace. Braca chose peace. Everyone you’ve met here has chosen to live in peace. No matter how much peace reduces our circumstances. No matter how much it changes who we are. We choose peace.”

“And you’re afraid some stranger from a far off land will change all that?” Garak asks.

“It wouldn’t be the first time.”

“I don’t want to tempt fate but why not kill me? After all, dead men tell no tales.”

“Scorpius tried that once.” She flicks a few levers on her console. “It didn’t end well.”

Garak sighs. “I suppose you have some vaguely scientific reasoning involving conservation of mass between alternate realities.”

“Something like that.” She slows the vessel. “We’re almost to the checkpoint.”

Garak cranes his neck to see the space ahead of them. There’s nothing. Of course, these kinds of things always have to be invisible.

“We’re not a threat to you, Garak,” Aeryn says. “You or your people. But if you try to come back here, I will not hesitate to bring you to Scorpius. And then he _will_ torture you. Go home. And stay there.”

“My dear.” Garak speaks his first sincere words to her: “That is all I have ever wanted.”


End file.
